


I'd Rather Use My Mouth To Kiss Your Frown Away

by fracturedvaels



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fracturedvaels/pseuds/fracturedvaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has to make a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Rather Use My Mouth To Kiss Your Frown Away

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd (so please pount errors as you see fit) and posted here because LiveJournal won't let me post comments all of a sudden. This is a fill for a [kinkmeme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47627125#t47627125).
> 
> Obviously untied to my series of PWP oneshots for that reason.

Cullen waits till night falls to creep down to the barn.

He hasn't seen Blackwall in...Maker, two weeks was it? He hadn't _wanted_ to see Blackwall. Well...no, that was a lie. He missed him, _craved_ him, but after what happened...

A chill ran up his spine. What would happen now? On one hand he was terrified - for Blackwall, for himself, for them both. But on the other he was furious. Maybe that anger was what led him down to the barn - the strange, bitter, hollowing anger of betrayal. But damn if he didn't already recognize the taste.

It's past midnight, almost no one is creeping around. But the fire is still going. Cullen considers going around the side so Blackwall can see him and hopefully not be startled, but he'd have to walk past Chips and Itsy Bitsy in the barn and they'd make a noise. So he settles for the front door, wide open as always.

He wrapped his arms around himself to try and control his shaking. He didn't put any effort into being sneaky or quiet, crunching every leaf and twig and loose piece of hay as he walked, but Blackwall didn't turn to meet his gaze. That was frustrating; did he know who was behind him? Cullen swallowed his rage, just for a little while longer at least, and waited a minute.

A minute and a half.

Almost two minutes of awkward, mute waiting. The blaze in the fireplace cackled at his frustration and he grunted, tired of waiting, and asked, "So what should I call you now? Blackwall or...Rainier?"

Blackwall let out a humorless chuckle. "Funny you should ask that, because Lavellan was around earlier and said the same damn thing." Cullen dropped his eyes to his boots and held in his disappointed sigh as Blackwall turned to face him.

"What happens to...us, now?" Cullen's voice is soft, full of hurt. He didn't expect himself to be so teary over this; he just wanted answers. "Where do we - where do go, with this?"

Blackwall leans against one of the barn supports, clasps his hands in front of him. "Nowhere," he says in such a curt tone that Cullen's heart almost drops into his stomach. "If that's what you want. Or, we continue. Or...well."

Oh. Oh. He's leaving this in Cullen's hands. The commander suddenly feels not that capable of anything. One thing he realizes, one thing he's positive of, is that he does not want to stop. He looks the impersonator - his _lover_ \- in the eye, and tells him as much. "I don't want to stop. But I don't know if I..."

"You don't know if you can trust me." He's blunt as always. Cullen wants to scream or hit him, maybe. He settles for waiting for a response.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, the warrior finally says, "Blackwall. You should just continue to call me Blackwall. That's who you like, anyway." Cullen starts to protest, but the man is already crossing the barn floor to him. They stand chest to chest, almost the same height, but Blackwall uses his own padded boots and the tilt in the floor to his advantage. Cullen's seen him do it, once before - they were almost caught by a scout, and while Cullen watched, hidden on the second level, Blackwall intimidated him with his height and his broad shoulders.

It had a completely different effect now. Blackwall cupped his face in both hands and brought their mouths together for a sweet, loving kiss that cut off Cullen's complaints. "We can use it...more as a title, I was thinking." He runs one thumb under Cullen's lower lip, then across it, being surprisingly gentle for someone with hands as rough as his. "I see you're out of your armor."

Cullen makes a soft humming sound and puts his hands on Blackwall's shoulders, closing his eyes. "Were you just stopping in for a visit, commander, or were you hoping for something a little more second-floor in nature?"

Blackwall's voice is heavy with want, and damn him, Cullen can't resist. He steps forward into the older man's arms, practically screaming _take me_. He feels like one of Cassandra's stupid romance novel heroines. 

But Maker it feels so wonderful. He tilts his head back and Blackwall immediately begins working on his neck, teeth sinking into flesh, tender kisses every now and then. He's teasing, Cullen realizes, especially when Blackwall drops his hands to give Cullen's ass a squeeze and bring him in closer. He keeps them there, uses them to hold Cullen close to him.

Cullen's knees are shaking before Blackwall manages to pull himself away and suggest, "Maybe we should move this upstairs."

Cullen nods and lets Blackwall take his hand, lead him to the second floor of the barn. It's cooler up there, soothing to Cullen's too-hot skin, and much darker. He can just make out Blackwall's shape in the shadows. Blackwall takes them to a stack of hay bales in the corner - where he sleeps, with old, worn blankets between himself and the hay.

Cullen remembers asking why he didn't just get a bed, or sleep in the barracks like a normal person. Blackwall had shrugged and grinned his stupid goofy grin, told him he was a simple man and only wanted simple things. Of course, he'd followed it up by calling Cullen his one luxury - syrupy sweet, a compliment that still made the blond's cheeks burn. Blackwall wasn't good with words. _Obviously_ , he'd stolen that line from somewhere. Probably Varric.

Both of them are eager, but Blackwall makes it clear he wants to set the pace of things by taking over stripping Cullen. He helps the man out of his coat and shirt, tells him to sit and take off his boots; while Cullen does, the soldier removes his own shirt and kicking off his own boots. Cullen waits for Blackwall to fetch a small bottle of oil from his mess of belongings on top of another stack of hay, and then return to him. Blackwall drops the oil onto Cullen's lap and undoes the ties on his pants, pushing them down to his thighs. He put his foot up to balance on the end of the bale Cullen sat on.

Cullen doesn't wait for an order or suggestion; he scoots forward and opens his mouth, taking in Blackwall's still-soft cock. His lover lets out an appreciative and low moan, puts both hands on the back of Cullen's head and lets the Commander have control, if just for a bit.

Cullen's mouth is fantastic. Soft and warm, just like him, and he knows better than to take too much in. Blackwall doesn't waste time with needless praise, his touches and needy breaths being adoration enough. Blackwall recalls their first time doing this; neither was new to it, obviously, but Cullen was so _nervous_. He was always nervous, shaky, breaths gentle and careful and measured. Blackwall felt his heart thumping wildly in his chest as Cullen pulled back almost entirely, then took him in again so, so slowly.

Blackwall felt his stomach drop when Cullen moved the hand not on Blackwall's dick over to his foot. He made a fist, one knuckle out, and ran it down the top of his foot to the web between his big and second toes. Then he ran it _back_ up, to his ankle, and back down again - Blackwall had to bring a fist up to his mouth so quick he almost hit himself, and bite down on the knuckle to keep from moaning too loudly.

Blackwall pulls back away from Cullen after that and pushes the man to lay down on his back, feet still on the floor. Blackwall moves a little quicker now, leaning down to undo Cullen's pants while kissing him at the same time; when he pulls them off he throws them into the corner on top of his own. Cullen passes the oil - which had rolled off his stomach when Blackwall pushed him down - up to his lover, who uncaps it and pours some on his hand.

Blackwall, Cullen's found, has always been very good at prep. Unless they're pressed for time he takes it slow, leaning over the commander, his own hard cock in one hand, his other prepping Cullen. When Cullen pushes him away, deciding he's ready, Blackwall pulls away. Cullen moves his feet from the floor to the bale, this apart for the older man. Blackwall slips between his legs and, while trying to distract Cullen with a kiss, enters him.

The feeling makes Cullen exhale suddenly, his back raising up from the makeshift bed. Blackwall presses their lips together again before he starts moving. The way he rolls his hips, the thrusts come slow and come long. Cullen's arms - having slipped around Blackwall's neck - move, hands on the man's shoulders, nails dug into his flesh. The commander can't help but scratch, not when Blackwall's fucking him so tenderly, so sweet.

When Cullen screws his eyes shut and turns his head away, ashamed at how _loud_ he's being, Blackwall puts a hand on the side of Cullen's face and turns him back. He rewards the eagerness with a deep and loving kiss, and thick fingers card through soft blond hair gently. 

Blackwall tangles his fingers into Cullen's hair and pulls his head to the side, just a little. He leans down to whisper into Cullen's ear, voice heavy, "Maker's balls, you're so lovely. Such a pretty little thing." Blackwall gives a particularly hard few thrusts suddenly, causing Cullen to let out the most deliciously obscene moan. "You're gonna draw the whole of fuckin', Skyhold to us. You want that? I bet you do."

" _Fuck_ ," Blackwall laughs at him, nips at his ear.

"You want people to know. To see. You love the thrill of it, getting caught, isn't that right? Doesn't it make you a little hot, commander?" He releases Cullen's hair and trails a hand down his chest, till he can wrap it around Cullen's hard cock. As before his touch is soft, his hand gentle, soft and slow strokes in contrast with how hard and fast he's fucking. "Makes your little toes curl, thinkin' about it. Being under the _big, **mean**_ old Blackwall's thumb."

Cullen hooks one arm behind Blackwall's neck and puts one hand on the back of his head, pulling him down for a silencing kiss. It's rough but so, so nice, so good. When their lips part, Blackwall's face immediately goes back to the crook of Cullen's neck, near his ear. For a while there's nothing from them but Cullen's swearing and moaning, nearly muted by the heavy wind outside and the horses outside.

Then Blackwall opened his stupid mouth. He pushed his lips till they were right on Cullen's ear so he couldn't talk without tickling him, and whispered in a voice so heavy it could press Cullen to death, " _I fucking love you_."

It was...surprising to hear. Not unpleasantly so, and Cullen found himself spilling onto his own stomach a few minutes later. Blackwall was not long after, pressing hard into Cullen as he did so.

They cleaned themselves off, and Blackwall - unable to locate Cullen's shirt or coat - lent the shivering commander one of his own. He replaced the blankets - _needed to be washed anyway_ , he explained, though Cullen was uncertain that the ones he replaced them with had been washed either.

Cullen considered returning to his tower. He'd even suggested Blackwall come with him, where there was a real bed, but he just smiled and shook his head. "Aren't you worried someone might see, commander? The greatest betrayer since Maferath, trailing behind you like a lost mabari?"

That hurt, just a little, but Cullen tried not to let it show. He doubted he succeeded. Instead, he shook his head and said, "They'll notice if I stay here all night, anyway, I just figured..."

Blackwall sits down on his 'bed' and thinks for a moment. "You can stay, if you like," he offers, patting the space beside him. Cullen hesitates, thinking about reports he has to read, things he has to oversee. All seem like irrelevant things at this point; he crawls back onto the bales, stealing the spot closest to the "wall". Blackwall says nothing, but grabs the heavy quilt from from it's spot, crumbled up on the floor near his feet, and pulls it over himself and Cullen. They shift until the blond is comfortably wrapped in the dark-haired man's arms, his cheek on Blackwall's bare chest, his mind spinning fast.

"Do you really not care if people know you slept up here? With me?"

"We keep dancing around them and it only prolongs the inevitable."

Blackwall laughed. "I think we should. I do love watching you dance." Cullen growls in annoyance. "But you're...not worried? I mean. After everything that's happened. After what I _did_."

"I am. But if I didn't want to, I wouldn't have come to you, would I?"

"This is true." Cullen closed his eyes and tried to be soothed by his lover's breathing. But now a new issue was pressing at him.

Another moment passes before he speaks up. "Did you mean it? What you said."

"What, that you can stay?" Cullen huffs in annoyance. "No. Definitely not. You're not even here right now. Tis but a trick."

"You know what I meant." He has no patience for elusiveness or jokes. Blackwall taps out an invisible tune on Cullen's shoulder as he thinks.

The commander steels himself for just about any answer, except for the one Blackwall gives. "I...suppose I did mean it. That...that doesn't bother you, does it?"

Despite his words, Blackwall doesn't sound insecure. Cullen tilts his head to look him in the eyes and says, "Of course not."

Blackwall releases a breath. He puts one of his hands up to Cullen's face, the backs of his knuckles softly caressing his cheek. "So does this mean - do you, I mean, are you - " "I love you, too, Blackwall."

Cullen remembers reading one of Cassandra's romance novels, at her behest. It was terribly cliche, with moments _just_ like this one. He was loathe to admit that, while reading them written out felt cheesy and boring, this was _different_. It was completely different to hear Blackwall say it, to say it himself. He felt wonderful. With that on his mind and one final goodnight kiss on his lips, Cullen laid his head back down on Blackwall's chest, and went to sleep.


End file.
